


Just South of Beauclair

by threesipsmore



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threesipsmore/pseuds/threesipsmore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mihawk notices something about Zoro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just South of Beauclair

No conversation that starts with _the first time you slept with someone_ is ever known to go well.

Zoro chokes a little on his wine— Mihawk was like the cook in many ways, his obscure taste in liquor just one of the problematic similarities.

_“What?”_

Mihawk sits there in that regal chair of his, snapping the newspaper open as Perona floats about. She’s snickering now.

“You’ve gotten worse,” Mihawk comments dryly, “your observational skills. The first time you slept with someone we’d visited a small island just south of Beauclair. You’d jumped out of her so quickly once you felt our presence that—”

“Mihawk,” Zoro snaps, cheeks boiling in embarrassment, “that’s enough.”

Perona snorts, picking at a tin canister of cookies as she flutters about.

“Just,” Zoro grumbles, folding his arms as he stares in a direction that doesn’t offend his eyesight, “just what are you trying to say?”

Mihawk remains impassive as he flips a page. “I’m just saying,” he comments mysteriously, “you’ve gotten—”

* * *

 

They were back in the area revisiting certain memories. Sanji had wanted to flutter by the Baratie (and despite Zoro's indignant stubbornness about time and Luffy, Sanji was charting a wayward route to Shimotsuki shortly after), and Mihawk was simply on the way. Luffy wouldn’t mind the extra couple of days, Sanji reasons, he was off with Shanks after all, him and Usopp.

How nervous their poor sniper hand been, and none had thought to tease him for it.

The cook had wrinkled his nose at the humid, muggy place, but still he trampled along with Zoro, greeting the Greatest Swordsman in the World (to Zoro's shame, still Mihawk, and Sanji enunciates it thus with a gleeful grin), and cooing over Perona’s disdainful form.

Two days in and Mihawk was to leave them alone for a few hours, cultivating the land out beyond the cliffs where the trees thinned and the water ran promiscuously close to suitable. Perona had sauntered after him, and Zoro, lazing about on the couch, had thought to find the cook.

It’d been awhile, after all.

“Hey,” Sanji breathes into his neck, tasting salt as he spoke against the slick skin, “when— how long’s it been? They,” his breathing stutters, Zoro grunting above him, murmuring things every now and then, happy, sinful things. “They,” Sanji swallows once more, “they should be back soon, right?”

Zoro didn’t care.

He’d be able to sense the old bastard— it’s not like it’d be the first time he’d been caught in this position anyway.

So he backs off a bit, hitches the cook’s legs up higher and gives him his dirtiest smirk, growling about how hard he was going to fuck him, and the cook, in all his splendor, merely wets his lips and _breathes._

Zoro doesn’t regret his scars, not a single stitch, but still he wished, sometimes, to have both his eyes again, to see as much of the cook as he possibly could.

It’s wet when he pushes back in, wet from his own excitement and he grins something feral, loving those talented hands that clench and unclench in the sheets, the way the thighs under his own hands twitch with little meaning to them.

“Look at you, cook,” Zoro whispers, “just look at you.”

Sanji huffs out a laugh, the one Zoro likes the most, the one that abandoned all pretenses.

“We’re in a castle,” Sanji murmurs, “like in one of those books the girls like to read. You’d be the knight, I suppose, and I’d be the prince, of course.”

Zoro hums, playing along as he snaps his hips forward, Sanji keening against his touch. “The strongest knight in all the land,” Zoro agrees, “did I win you from a tourney or something?”

Sanji grins, face warm and shiny from perspiration, lips curling pleasantly. He rolls his hips, lids a bit heavy. “Never, as if I’d give myself away on a whim. You’d been longing for me, of course, you— _ah,_ you were the head of my father’s guard. Yearning after his son like you were, _shame.”_

Zoro chuckles, thighs flexing as he quickened his pace. “But I’d never be good enough for a _prince,_ huh? Are you betrothed then? This some sort of forbidden romance?”

Sanji’s eyes are on him, and there’s a sudden truth to that gaze, a truth that slows him down.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, I was engaged.”

They stare at each other for a good bit, before Zoro’s leaning in slowly, _purposefully_ , allowing Sanji’s legs to fall as he caged the other in betwixt his arms. He loved being in his space like this, breathing him in.

Sanji has nowhere to look now but at him.

“But still the knight wanted you,” Zoro says, “despite the obligations and the court and _everything else_.”

“The court,” Sanji repeats quietly, so as not to disturb their little sanctuary. Zoro, carefully, tilts his hand a bit to tug some of that blonde hair out of the way.

It takes a moment, but then Sanji is speaking again, just a bit louder. “Well, the obligations and the court and everything else be damned then. A knight can beat anything, right?”

Zoro begins moving again, lazy and slow and _dragging,_ and Sanji’s breathing is ragged, those precious hands on Zoro’s shoulders. "Right."

He can beat anything. 

“So the knight sneaks into his room then,” Zoro murmurs into his ear, biting into the flesh of it, “while everyone’s away he sneaks in to play, and the prince opens his legs wide open, so willing and wet—”

Sanji hits his shoulder lightly, clicking his tongue. “The knight is delusional, clearly. Probably baked his brain dry from fighting too many dragons. Poor sap. I imagine the prince is just taking pity on him at this point.”

Zoro gives him a punishing thrust for that, Sanji whining.

“Prince,” Zoro growls into his shoulder, biting there as well, though this time he doesn’t let go and Sanji shudders— though from what, the swordsman isn’t sure.

The bed shifts in its entirety the closer he gets, tapping the wall just slightly as Sanji tries his best at breathing— gasping and whimpering as he comes.

* * *

 

“—worse.”

Zoro chugs the bottle, and Perona titters.

“Can you blame him, though? There you are, thumping away up the stairs in those heavy boots of yours, and he’s got his monkey legs wrapped around that blonde dimwit up there— clearly his primate body couldn’t hear over its own raging hormones.”

Zoro’s _this_ close to chopping all her hair off.

“You must keep a mindful eye on _everything,_ despite the circumstances,” Mihawk says, “sir _knight._ ”

Zoro wants to tell him, wants to say that it’s not because he’s gotten worse, but that Sanji, in that moment, _is_ everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: threesipsmore.tumblr.com


End file.
